


Mouth of Gold

by ionia



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionia/pseuds/ionia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman doesn't use a lot of words. Brucie does. But what about the man inbetween?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mouth of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> This actually started out as some unconnected drabbles, but then I thought: why not make it into a longer story? So I added some more, and a theme that had been in my mind for a while. Here is the result.

 

 

Batman had always been a man of few words. Just one look or a single comment was enough to shut everyone up. Playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne on the other hand got around with a swift mouth or easy joke. The man in between, Clark  knew, hung more towards the Bat, but could have fun or a long conversation if he had the time.

 

===

 

It had happened so quick, he had only turned away for a second, less than a second, to incinerate one of Toyman’s machines, and when he turned back, he didn’t see Bruce. He searched, found him thrown into a building, surrounded by the rubble. Knocked out cold. This shouldn’t have happened, the plan of attack was clear, and he should’ve been there to protect Bruce. But he hadn’t been.

He checked Bruce’s heartbeat,  gathered him up in his arms, and teleported up to the watchtower. J’onn was there, and together they brought him to the sickbay. It appeared Bruce didn’t have any major wounds, just a concussion, 2 broken ribs, some heavy bruising and a cut on his shoulder.

 

\---

 

Afterwards they sat on a beach in Mexico, the sun was just beginning to set. Bruce, now only wearing the lower half of his suit and no boots, but with his torso wrapped in bandages, walked into the ocean. Clark didn’t follow. When Bruce had swum a few rounds, he came back, sat next to Clark. He stared at the declining sun for a while, didn’t say anything. Clark looked at him.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” Clark sighed.

He could be content for the rest of his life just looking at him and Bruce wouldn’t even know.

Then, Bruce turned his head and kissed him.

 

\---

 

Their flight was quiet. When they reached the manor, they didn’t go in through the cave, but instead landed directly in Bruce’s bedroom. Clark had never been there. They undressed slowly and in silence. Naked, save for the bandages on Bruce’s torso, they sat down on the bed next to each other. Bruce grabbed his hand, entwined their fingers. Clark inched forward, but stopped, didn’t dare to take control away from Bruce. Then, Bruce closed the distance anyway and Clark brought up his other hand to touch his shoulder.

They memorized each other’s bodies in the dark, and when Bruce was the one to spread legs, Clark smiled. Soon, the only sounds filling the room were their ragged breaths and the sound of skin slapping on skin.

 

\---

 

The morning after he awoke with Bruce’s head on his shoulder, their legs tangled together.

“If I had known you were gay, I would’ve jumped you a very long time ago.”

“Don’t say you didn’t pick up on the hints, Clark. They were there.”

“Maybe a thing or two, three, but I always thought I was imagining it. I didn’t want to risk losing our friendship.”

Bruce’s murmur rumbled through his chest.

Sometime later there was a polite knock on the door and Alfred stepped inside, breakfast tray in his hand. Upon noticing Clark, he immediately turned around and closed the door again. 5 minutes passed and when Alfred returned, he was pushing a buffet cart ahead of him, loaded with blueberry pancakes, toast with bacon and eggs, strawberry waffles, tea, and a big pot of coffee for Bruce.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize you had company,” he said, partially to Clark, who was now hiding under the blankets so he couldn’t see the looks Alfred gave them.

The butler walked over to the enormous windows and drew back the curtains, the not-quite-sunlight of Gotham City flooding the room immediately.

When Alfred had left, Bruce snorted and pushed at his shoulder. “Come on out Clark, Alfred would’ve found out anyway. Can’t hide anything from him.”

 

\---

 

The next day was business as usual, there was a League meeting and no acknowledgement of the previous night or morning, nor the shower they had taken together. Superman opened the session, Batman talked about a new security system for the watchtower, and afterwards everyone returned to their own city or went back to their duties. The rest of the week they didn’t see each other in or out of costume and Clark started to think it had only been a onetime thing.

 

\---

 

But Saturday morning came and Bruce lay on his stomach, head buried in the pillows, his hair messy from sleep and sex. Clark lay on his side, propped up on an elbow,  drawing circles on the billionaire’s back. Bruce turned his head to look at him and smiled. It was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

 

\---

 

And that’s how it went, they slept in the manor when Bruce wanted, and sometimes Bruce would come to the Daily Planet at night, take him away from his work and they’d go to Clark’s apartment and order Pizza and make love all night. They didn’t do anything when in costume or in the cave or the fortress and Alfred was the only one who knew of their relationship, though Clark suspected Dick might have figured it out too.

 

\---

 

Sometimes Bruce liked it rough. They had safewords but never used them. Clark didn’t know if it was because he was still too tender, or if Bruce just had no limits.

 

\---

 

Clark liked the weekends. They either stayed at the manor or went out in Gotham or Metropolis, wandering around and doing nothing for as long as the world would let them.

 

\---

 

When he got his first invitation for a party at Wayne Manor, Clark immediately rushed over to Gotham.

“Does this mean we’re coming out?” he asked in Bruce’s doorway, waving the invitation up and down, a smile on his face.

“Coming out? We can’t afford ourselves that luxury, Clark.” His smile faded. “But it’s okay if you flirt with me, most guests do anyway. Guys too.”

 

\---

 

Flirting at a public event, it turned out, was not a good idea. Bruce was beautiful in his tux and Clark couldn’t stand the sight of him. Brief accidental touches when they clinked their glasses, whispered flirtations no one could hear, and hands casually placed on lower backs didn’t help much. Halfway through the night, Clark couldn’t think of anything but Bruce’s skin on his, wanting to be as close as possible, so when Bruce put his empty glass on a passing tray and supposedly left for the bathroom, Clark supersped after him.

 

\---

 

In the darkness of the master bedroom, they stumbled over each other, trying to get their clothes off without breaking contact between their lips. Clark fucked Bruce against the wall, on the bed, and in the shower before they went to sleep.

 

\---

 

Bruce always kissed him when they came, to keep from making any sound.

 

\---

 

After a long discussion and Clark reasoning that if they couldn’t come out to the world at least his own parents should know, Bruce let Clark take him to Kansas. 

August at the farm, so the air was hot and dry, but the Kents were nice and very happy for their son and Bruce.

They said: “It’s like meeting you all over again, Bruce,” and smiled. 

After lunch, Jonathan walked around the farm with Bruce while Clark collected eggs. In the evening the four of them ate one of the best meals Martha had ever made, and Clark insisted he and Bruce do the dishes.

 

\---

 

At night, they made love out under the stars in the field where no one could see them. Clark looked at Bruce underneath him while Bruce looked past his shoulder and up at the sky in awe, his mouth slightly opened, the only sound coming out his breath and some quiet huffs.

 

\---

 

When fighting an adversary together, they were more in sync than ever, now that they knew each

other’s body like their own, their red and black cape swirling around one another, one flying, one crouching.

Clark was certain he’d never let Bruce get hurt again now.

 

\---

 

The first time they kissed when in costume was when he did. They didn’t speak for two weeks.

 

\---

 

When Batman worked down in the cave, Clark wasn’t welcome and would only be a distraction. But sometimes he would superspeed in there, grab Batman and have Bruce pinned to the couch or the bed before he could blink.

 

\---

 

They didn’t call each other pet names. Clark had tried a few times, but only ever gotten an indignant glare from Bruce in return. _Darling_ sounded too old, _honey_ too sweet, _sweetheart_ and _love_ too British. But, finally, they had landed on _baby_. Bruce thought it was sexy.

Clark felt like the happiest man in the world when playboy Bruce Wayne came to the Daily Planet and called him _Clarkie_.

 

He whispered _mine_ in Bruce’s ear during sex. If only Bruce would say something in return.

 

\---

 

When Bruce came back from a really bad night of patrol, it was worse than usual. He bit his lips to keep from shouting out as he pounded into Clark. And when Clark would reach up to him, he’d refused to be pulled down, just kept staring at him in anger.

Afterwards, when Bruce had it out of his system and lay panting on top of him, they’d talk again and slowly drift off to sleep. Clark would hold him the whole night.

 

\---

 

The holidays were spent at the Kent farm. Bruce’s boys were there, and Alfred. Conner came home, and Clark even got Krypto out of the Fortress to play with Ace. The girls decorated the tree before storming outside to join the boys in a snowball fight.

After dinner, Bruce and Clark made a long hike, and when they got back, all the seats in front of the fire were taken. They sat on the floor in front of the fire and Bruce fell asleep on Clark’s shoulder.

 

\---

 

Bruce was stubborn. That in combination with him being able to manipulate Clark to do anything made things go wrong sometimes.

"I don’t need preparation."

"Yes you do, Bruce."

"Then I don’t want it."

"But I’ll hurt you—"

"Just get in me, Clark, and make it hurt."

"Are you absolutely sure about this?"

Bruce nodded once.

He bit on his fist the whole time to keep from shouting out, and afterwards they sat panting on the floor, heads resting against the footboard of Clark’s bed. Clark took his hand and placed soothing kisses on the red knuckles. There were bruises in the shape of Clark’s hands on his hips.

“You’re not goading me into doing that again. Ever.”

Bruce dropped his head to Clark’s shoulder and kissed it. His whispered _No_ was so small only Clark could have heard it.

 

\---

 

The dust of the barely won battle was settling slowly around them, glittered in the early morning sunlight. Bruce looked at Clark. “Kiss me,” he whispered. Clark’s silk cape and strong arms fail to hide

them from sight, but it doesn’t matter. 

 

The League knows.

 

\---

 

Valentine’s day consisted of 24 hours locked up in the presidential suite in the Metropolis Grande Hotel with a bottle of champagne and chocolate strawberries.

 

After their 7th round of love making, Bruce lay spent and languidly on the bed, his bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead. He asked: “Can you bring me a glass of water?”

It was the only thing he said all night and when he had downed the cold liquid, he pulled Clark into him again.

 

\---

 

Every time, Bruce would babble and whisper the most loving or threatening things in his ear during foreplay, but the moment he entered Bruce, or – on a few occasions – when Bruce entered him, Bruce shut his mouth and stayed quiet until they were both sated. And one day, it finally started bothering him.

 

\---

 

On a September afternoon, they made a hike into the forest behind Wayne Manor, and had a picnic in the woods. They sought out a nice spot where the last rays of summer sunshine shone through the branches and put down their stuff. Soon, their food was forgotten and they were making out, Clark on top of Bruce. Clark considered this his best chance, cut off from all communication and lying on top of him.

 

“Can we talk about something?”

“And ruin the mood? No.”

“Yes. ‘Cause, you see, that’s exactly what it is, Bruce. You’re so quiet. During sex, I mean. And I’m not mad at you for it. Just… curious, I guess. Sometimes I just don’t know how to respond to it, and I’d like to know what you feel when I make love to you.”

“I thought that’d be pretty obvious after more than a year. Now get off of me.”

He rolled off of him and Bruce got up, started to walk away. Clark grabbed him by his wrist.

“Bruce? Why?”

“Because I’m afraid. I’m afraid I won’t say the right things. Or enough.”

Clark pulled Bruce down to sit between his legs.

“Hey, baby, it’s all right.” He kissed his temple. “You don’t have to _say_ anything. Just try making a sound sometime.”

After a while, Bruce relaxed in his hold and they sat like that for a long time, eating and talking and dozing off.

 

\---

 

Rules were made to be broken and the first time they went to the fortress together not for work, but to have dinner and relax, was in November. The way there had been cold and Bruce was shivering when they touched down in the hall, Clark’s birth parents looming above them.

 

\---

 

Bruce wandered off, now wearing a nightly blue Kryptonian robe, while Clark made dinner and laid the table. Once he was done, he found Bruce tinkering with the crystals, studying Kryptonian culture. The man would always find some kind of work to do.

 

Over their food, Bruce said: “I want to learn your language.” Clark smiled and nodded in agreement.

 

\---

 

Discarding of their robes and undergarments, they reached the bedroom. Bruce had never been there. Naked, they flopped down on the enormous bed. Bruce grabbed his hand and scooted to the middle, pulling Clark with him. He laid down on his back and Clark nudged his legs apart. The routine was perfection, like their fighting together.

He bit at Bruce’s neck, nipped a trail up his jaw, licked his mouth. He kissed him, but right before they came, Bruce pulled away. He looked up at him, their foreheads touching, the only thing coming out of his mouth: _“Clark. Clark. Clark.”_

It was enough.


End file.
